Checked Out for Murder, page 17
“Interesting,” Charlie said. “In that case, what does Billy expect to get out of this visit?”
“Some sort of closure. An explanation as to why his mother disappeared and ran out on him and his sister after the murder. I’m hoping they can repair their relationship.”
“Does this woman have any idea that she’s about to receive a visit from the son she hasn’t seen in twenty years?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? Give her a chance to avoid meeting Billy? I understand she sticks pretty close to home, so we’re taking our chances.”
“When did you say that you and Billy are making this trip?”
I grinned as I opened my office door. “I didn’t. ’Bye, Charlie. It was good seeing you again.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the rest of the day—between a long meeting with Sally to discuss some long-standing programs I wanted to drop and interviews with two possible presenters—I thought about Charlie. Was the play reading the real reason he had stopped by the library, or had he wanted to find out when Billy and I would be driving to Long Island to question Patricia Harper? As farfetched as it seemed, she was the only link to the person who had possibly killed her husband and then her daughter twenty years later. I had no clue how Ilana’s murder fit into the picture—or if it was completely unrelated.
I began to worry about Patricia Harper’s safety. Perhaps she’d fled Clover Ridge all those years ago because she’d feared her husband’s killer. Today he still roamed free. Though she’d changed her name, it was safe to assume that if Dylan’s secretary had managed to find her, then a murderer could as well. And would want to get to her before Billy. Which was why, when Charlie questioned me, I had decided not to tell him when we planned to drive to Long Island.
Why was he so interested in knowing, anyway? Was he Patricia Harper’s secret lover? I shook my head, refusing to even consider the preposterous idea. Sure, Charlie was the right age, but age was the only factor that made the amiable Charlie Stanton a suspect in this infuriating case. As far as I knew, he’d never set foot in Clover Ridge before he’d arrived here to film I Love You, I Do.
That evening I called Billy at the gym. “Just checking that we’re still on for Friday morning,” I said.
“Absolutely. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”
“See you then. Call me if anything comes up.”
“Will do,” Billy said, “but nothing will come up between now and Friday.”
* * *
Thursday afternoon Billy called me. He sounded awful. “I’m in the hospital.”
A sense of dread spread over me. “What happened?”
“I’m hooked up to an IV and having my blood cleaned via hemodialysis. I’ll be here a few days.”
“Oh no! Is it food poisoning?”
“Poison is the operative word. They ran all kinds of tests—blood, urine, CT, EKG—to find out why I suddenly felt groggy and a few hours later nearly collapsed. Antifreeze poisoning, as they suspected.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Lieutenant Mathers picked up the honeyed walnuts from my apartment and brought them to the crime lab.” Billy snorted. “A bogus gift from a grateful client. Only my client, when the police called her, knew nothing about it.”
I drew in a deep breath. Billy and I both knew why someone had sent him the poisoned nuts. The only thing we didn’t know was who it was.
“This is creepy,” I said. “How did he know where to send the nuts? How did he know what to send?”
“That’s easy. The nuts were sent to the gym. He must have overheard my conversation with Stella Marks. How much I love honeyed walnuts. Loved,” he said ruefully. “I’ll never eat another walnut again.”
“Will you be all right?”
“Looks that way. Good thing I wasn’t hungry and only ate a handful.”
“He doesn’t want you talking to your mother,” I said.
Billy let out a deep sigh. “You were right, Carrie. I should have kept my mouth shut about our plans to pay her a visit. I have no doubt this is the person who killed my father and Daphne. He knows my mother can identify him.”
“Does John—Lieutenant Mathers—see it this way?”
“I don’t think so,” Billy said. “I heard him telling someone he wants to wait until all the test results are in before he starts involving people in other states.”
“Meanwhile, the murderer got his wish.” I shuddered. “And for all we know, he might go after your mother if and when he finds out where she lives.”
“Carrie …”
“Yes?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only one that can do this …”
“You want me to talk to your mother,” I said.
“I do. You have to convince her to tell you who killed my father and Daphne and poisoned me.”
I took a minute to think—about Billy, the murders, about Dylan and me.
“Billy, I’ve put my life in danger before tracking down murderers, and I promised Dylan and Lieutenant Mathers I wouldn’t do it again. I need to talk to Dylan about going to see your mother. I’ll do it if he agrees to go with me.”
As soon as I ended the call, Evelyn appeared.
“Poor Billy!” she exclaimed. “Thank goodness he didn’t become another victim.”
“Either Billy was plain lucky or the murderer merely meant to stop him from going to see his mother.” I frowned. “Though I have no idea how the murderer knew we were planning to go tomorrow.”
“It could be he simply decided to put Billy out of commission ASAP.”
“Maybe,” I agreed.
Evelyn nodded as she thought. “What I don’t understand is, why did the killer assume that Billy wouldn’t communicate with his mother before going to visit her?”
“Billy made it clear at Daphne’s memorial service that his mother had been out of touch all these years and he meant to surprise her with his visit.”
“I see. Well then, I think we can conclude that Patricia holds the secret to the killer’s identity.”
“And if that’s the case,” I said, “then whoever killed Chet Harper, Daphne Harper, and Ilana Reingold and poisoned Billy yesterday is one and the same person. A man in his fifties or sixties who’s terrified of being exposed.”
“I agree with you,” Evelyn said.
“I think John was wrong to focus on someone connected to the movie people,” I said. “I think the killer is a Clover Ridge resident. Evelyn, you were around then. Is there anyone you can think of who was close to Patricia Harper?”
Evelyn crossed her legs, rested her chin on her fist, and thought. “I didn’t know Pattie very well, but like most of the people in town, I was aware of her awful predicament. Her husband drank, and when he drank he was abusive to her and the kids. We all felt sorry for her. A few people tried to help her and she refused their help.”
“Do you remember who tried to help her?” I asked.
“Sure. Your Great-Aunt Harriet, for one.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes! Harriet tried to talk to Pattie a few times, but each time she was told that everything was fine. Pattie insisted she had everything under control.”
“I have to talk to Aunt Harriet,” I said. “Was there anyone else?”
“Alvin Tripp felt sorry for her. I think he was smitten.”
“The mayor?”
“He’s the mayor of Clover Ridge now, but twenty years ago he was a lawyer with a soft spot for his neighbor who was being terrorized by her husband.”
Having said her piece, Evelyn faded from view, leaving me deep in thought. Great-Aunt Harriet and Mayor Tripp had known Patricia Harper all those years ago. I had to speak to each of them, and soon.
* * *
That evening after Dylan and I had finished our simple dinner of omelets stuffed with cheese, sautéed onions, and mushrooms, accompanied by a baby-greens salad and fresh rye bread, we moved to the living room sofa, where I filled him in on the day’s events. His expression changed from dismay to anger to disapproval as I related how Billy had ended up in South Conn Hospital and had asked me to visit his mother to convince her to give up the name of her long-ago lover.
“Carrie, I—”
“Before you say anything, I want you to know that I told Billy I would discuss it with you before giving him my answer.”
“My answer is no.”
I smiled. “That’s quite a discussion we had.”
Dylan shrugged. “What’s to discuss? Now we pretty much know that, one, all three murders were most likely committed by the same person, and two, this person doesn’t want Billy Harper to meet up with his mother. Talking to Patricia Harper is a matter for the police, though I can’t see John rushing off to Long Island to interview her.”
“I agree. He’s much too busy here,” I said. “My mother called before to tell me John has started questioning the movie people to find out who might have sent Billy the poisoned nuts. Several of them have been going to Parson’s Gym. Some have even had sessions with Billy. I’m sure John is also questioning some local people—now that there’s a strong tie between the poisoning and the three homicides.”
“So there you have it,” Dylan said. “When Billy’s feeling better, there’s nothing to stop him from going to see his mother.”
“Still, I agree with Billy. It’s important that I speak to her tomorrow as planned.” I drew a deep breath. “I know it’s short notice, but I’m hoping you’ll go with me. I promised you and John that I wouldn’t do anything dangerous. If you’re there with me and there’s a small chance the killer comes after us, well, I’ll be protected.”
Dylan stared at me, dumb struck. Clearly he was thinking I had some nerve making such a request. He started laughing, as though I’d just presented the most comical argument one could imagine. Laughing and pointing at me.
“Did you actually expect me to go with you tomorrow?” he said when he could speak.
“I was hoping, but I understand if you can’t—”
“You’re asking for my help in a potentially dangerous situation.”
I nodded, starting to get annoyed. “Okay. You can simply say no.”
Dylan wrapped me in his arms. “Sorry, babe. I’m not laughing at you.”
I sniffed. “It sure looks that way.”
“I’m just so blown away that you want me along for protection.”
“I understand. Tomorrow’s a workday. You have appointments. Investigative things to do.”
“Did I say I couldn’t go?”
I stared at Dylan. “No, but …”
“I’ll call Rosalind now. Have her cancel my appointments. Tomorrow’s a light day anyway, so it’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal to me,” I said, kissing him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I woke up early Friday morning and glanced at my clock. It wasn’t quite six o’clock. I let Dylan sleep a while longer and got up to feed Smoky Joe. My heart thumped with excitement and anticipation. There had been so little evidence to follow up on regarding these murders. No clues to speak of. Of course, there was the chance that the forensic people would find fingerprints on Billy’s poisoned walnuts. But even if they did, that still didn’t link the poisoner to the three murders. Whatever Patricia Harper had to tell us could be important in solving all three homicides.
We’d decided to travel to Long Island by ferry. I was looking forward to the hour-and-a-quarter ride across Long Island Sound. I’d planned to sit outside and get a bit of a tan but had to give up that idea because it was drizzling, though sunny skies were in the afternoon’s weather forecast.
The traffic wasn’t too bad as we drove to catch the ferry in Bridgeport. Dylan kept the soft rock radio station on low so we could hear ourselves talk.
“Billy’s feeling much better this morning,” I said. “He thinks the doctor overseeing his case will let him go home later today or tomorrow morning.”
“I’m glad he didn’t end up being murder victim number four,” Dylan said.
“The killer was clearly trying to stop Billy from visiting his mother as planned,” I said.
“Let’s hope no one knows we’re on our way to see her now,” Dylan said. “Unfortunately, too many people knew you were planning to accompany him.”
“When my mother asked if I was going anyway, I said of course not. She would have passed that on to the movie people.” I chuckled. “Gossip spreads like wildfire among that group.”
“And if the murderer is one of Clover Ridge’s fine citizens, we have to hope he’ll assume you wouldn’t be going without Billy.”
That had me twisting my neck in every direction to see if a car was following us.
Dylan laughed and patted my leg. “No need to get nervous, babe. I’ve had my eyes peeled on the cars around us from the moment we left. Believe me, no one’s tailing us.”
Which reminded me. “Speaking of Clover Ridge’s fine citizens, Evelyn told me something interesting yesterday regarding Patricia Harper.”
Dylan glanced at me. “Your friend Evelyn the ghost?”
“Uh-huh.”
A few months ago I’d told Dylan about my relationship with Evelyn. We’d been driving home from a restaurant and almost crashed into some bushes on the side of the road. While Dylan accepted the fact that Evelyn often hovered around the library in her ghostly state and sometimes gave me helpful information regarding homicide investigations, it didn’t rest easily in his pragmatic, rational mind.
“If you’ll remember, Evelyn lived in Clover Ridge most of her life and knew most of the people in town,” I said.
“Go on.”
“She said two people tried to help Patricia—Aunt Harriet and Alvin Tripp.”
“Al Tripp, the mayor?”
“Uh-huh.” I smiled, picturing Uncle Bosco’s overweight friend who loved to make speeches. “Evelyn remembered that Al Tripp had a soft spot for Patricia.”
Dylan frowned. “And she first told you this yesterday, when Daphne was murdered weeks ago?”
I let out a huff of exasperation. “That’s Evelyn. I can’t squeeze information from her like a tube of toothpaste. She tells me what she feels like telling me, when she feels like sharing.”
Dylan made no comment, so I went on. “I suppose she didn’t mention Aunt Harriet and Al before because she didn’t think it was important. My great-aunt isn’t a serial killer, and Al’s too busy holding meetings to go around murdering people.” I giggled, then quickly covered my mouth. “I know it’s not a laughing matter, but can you see him tracking down women almost half his age? He’d be huffing and puffing.”
“I suppose John is aware that Al Tripp had a thing for Patricia Harper since he was on the force when Chet Harper was murdered. You might mention it, but then you’d have to explain how you found it out.” Dylan grinned. “That’s the problem with getting information from a ghost.”
I nodded. “I’ll think of something.”
We drove along in peaceful silence. I mused about Patricia Harper and how difficult it must have been to start over fresh with a new name and a new life.
“Tell me again about Patricia Harper’s new persona,” I said.
“She goes by the name of Sheila Rossetti. Sheila was her middle name. Rossetti is her husband Tony’s last name. They’ve been married twelve years now. Tony has two grown sons from his first marriage. They moved to Long Island a few years ago to be close to one of his sons.”
“I’ll never understand how she could leave Billy and Daphne,” I said. “Especially when she knew the police suspected Billy for his father’s murder.”
Dylan exhaled loudly. “I think she might have taken off before Mitch Flynn really got his claws into Billy. At any rate, I suspect she was too traumatized to be of any help to anyone.”
I felt a pang of anxiety. “What if she’s not home? Maybe they’re away on vacation?” I said.
“Relax, Carrie. I called last night asking for a bogus name. A woman answered the phone. When I apologized for dialing the wrong number, she said not to worry, her husband Tony did it all the time. When Rosalind called this morning, Mrs. Rossetti sounded annoyed and commented on the sudden spurt of wrong numbers.”
“I hope she doesn’t suspect we’re on her tail,” I said. “Or have any plans to go somewhere today.”
“Rosalind didn’t get the impression she had a job, but I’m sure she has errands to run and the occasional lunch date with a friend.” Dylan shrugged. “In which case, we’ll wait. Pretend we’re on a stakeout.”
* * *
We drove onto the ferry and left the car to find seats on an upper level. There were more people on board than I’d expected, but then, ferries crossed the sound throughout the year. I gazed out at the water while Dylan spoke quietly on his cell to Rosalind about a few of his clients. When he was done, he reached for my hand and we sat quietly.
“Want some coffee?” he asked a few minutes later.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind some French fries.”
He laughed. “At eleven in the morning?”
“Why not? They smell delicious.”
“So they do.”
“Ask to make them well done,” I called after him.
Dylan returned a few minutes later. He handed me my fries, which were yummy, and sat beside me sipping his coffee.
“Mmm, these are delicious,” he said, sampling some of my fries.
“I’m a little nervous,” I admitted as the ferry approached Port Jefferson. “I’ve never questioned anyone who ran off and took on a new identity.”
“Go gently,” Dylan advised. “I think Sheila Rossetti will want to know what you can tell her about her children.”
“I wonder if she knows Daphne is dead,” I said. “She must have read about it in the papers.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
